


Seven Minutes

by withoutaplease



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22443817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: Anonymous prompt: making out in a space that’s way too small for two people—limbs are tangled, someone hits their head, it’s a mess.Warnings: Exactly what it says on the box.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 66





	Seven Minutes

To call the hall closet at Nick Prescott’s house _cozy_ would be generous - you’d watched nerds stuffed into lockers that were roomier - and as you stood inside waiting for your fellow victim to arrive, letting your friends cajole you into a round of _Seven Minutes in Heaven_ began to seem like a pretty bad idea. But then, it had been a whole night of bad ideas, what with the sneaking out, and the party, and the three-too-many tequila shots so as not to look like the lightweight that you absolutely were. _What’s one more?_ you thought, straightening up and putting on your game face, trying to be cool about it. 

Then Billy Hargrove crammed himself into the closet after you, and you didn’t know whether to thank your friends or murder them, but either way, _cool_ was no longer an option. You managed an awkward quarter-step back before you hit a shoe rack, and even that space vanished when the closet door closed behind him and covered you both in darkness.

“Think you can last seven minutes, Hargrove?” came a gleeful shout from outside.

“Why don’t you ask your mom about that, Hagan?“ Billy called back, to a chorus of masculine approval. He twisted around, and after a few brushes of various his against various yours, put what little space there was between you. 

You shuffled, sending a few wire hangers clattering next to your head, and tried hard not to notice his right thigh pressed just a little against your left. Heart hammering like a rabbit’s, you took a deep breath, and inhaled a noseful of cologne as potent as another shot of tequila.

“What’s your name?” Billy asked, sounding about as unbothered as you weren’t.

“Y/N,” you said, more than a little crestfallen that he didn’t know it already, and damned if you were about to let that show.

“You’re in my calculus class, right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I let you copy my homework once.”

“Right.” He shifted, and you heard a pop that might’ve been a knuckle or a neck or a shoulder. “Well listen, we don’t have to do anything. I’m not gonna touch you.”

“Okay,” you said, telling yourself that what felt like disappointment must actually be relief.

Billy moved his feet, succeeding only in switching the thigh contact from one side to the other, and a few silent seconds dragged by. “You seem nervous, is all,” he said.

You shrugged, and knocked something loose from the rack behind you. It landed on your foot, hard enough to bruise later, and you bit back a yelp. “I’m not nervous,” you said.

“You’re shaking,” he observed.

It was true, to your chagrin. “It’s cold in here.”

He laughed. “It’s a sauna in here.”

He was right. You could feel the beads of sweat prickling out across your forehead. "I’m not nervous,” you repeated.

“All right.”

Outside, the assorted jeers and catcalls faded back into general revelry. Inside, the air grew thinner. “Hasn’t it been seven minutes yet?” you complained.

“Two, tops,” he replied, and you made a strangled sound that could have been acknowledgement or despair. You put your concentration to keeping steady on your feet, and seconds passed.

Billy cleared his throat. “I could,“ he said deliberately. "If you wanted me to.”

Your breath caught. “What??”

You could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “You know what.”

“Right,” you said, feeling less steady by the moment.

“If you wanted.”

“Okay,” you repeated.

He chuckled. “Was that okay you understand, or okay you want it?”

You felt your cheeks flush hot, and managed an, “Um.”

“Spit it out,” he said. “Clock’s ticking.”

You bit your lip, and squeezed your eyes shut, and tried to ignore the blood thundering in your ears. “I want,” you started, more squeak than speech.

“Christ,” he muttered, moving a hand to your hip. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He leaned in, and then it wasn’t just thighs pressed together but all the things, and your legs really would’ve given out if there’d been anywhere to fall. Then his nose brushed against yours in the dark, searching. You wet your lips, and he kissed you. 

It was electric. Soft at first touch, he pressed, and you yielded, and your flirting might have been as smooth as sandpaper, but your body knew what it was doing. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, and you arched against him, and you might have forgotten where you were, except your shoulder hit the shoe rack again, and this time triggered an avalanche.

Billy brought an arm up to shield your head from falling sneakers. “You okay?” he asked, amused.

“Mm-hmm,” you replied, and he kissed you again. His hand snaked up under the back of your shirt, his thigh pressed in against the seam of your jeans, and you moaned softly against his lips. He moved his other hand, ignoring the thunk of his elbow against whatever it was that he hit, and grabbed a handful of your ass cheek. You ground harder against him, and felt something stiff and smooth dig in against your leg.

“Is that you?” you asked, pulling away.

He chuckled. “I think that’s a golf club." 

"Oh.”

He shoved it aside and repositioned himself, kicking shoes out of the way as he planted his feet between yours. This time something hard and smooth pressed into your belly, and he whispered, “That’s me,” before you could ask. 

“Oh.”

Then his lips were back on you, and both hands slid down to your ass, and he hiked you up with a grunt to wrap your legs around his hips. Your head smacked the bar, sending hangers raining down, and he snickered into into your mouth, but didn’t stop. He leaned your back against the emptied shoe rack, and you wove your fingers into his curls, and for just about a minute, it really was kind of heavenly.

At least, it was until the door flew open to a shout of, “Time’s up!” followed by hoots and cheers as you squinted against the light. Billy chuckled and set you down gently among the scattered remains of the closet, plucking a stuck hanger out of your hair. Everyone was staring, friends and goons alike, and if you turned any redder, you thought your face would melt.

You glanced helplessly over at Billy, who just grinned. “See you in calculus,” he said with a wink, stepping out into the hallway in a tumble of shoes. Right about then, your legs finally gave out, and you landed on your ass in a pile of coats. For all your resistance going in, it was a while before you set foot outside of the closet again.


End file.
